


Of Course He's a Vampire

by HolyCatsAndRabbits, Patolozka



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Bela Lugosi, Crowley is a mysterious man, Crowley is having weird dreams, First Kiss, Happy Ending, M/M, Omg there was only one coffin, Opinions on Bela Lugosi's clothes, Strong Aziraphale (Good Omens), There's room for two!, Vampire AU, Vampire Anathema, Vampire Aziraphale (Good Omens), even to himself, first bite, sleeping in a coffin, the angels are The Vampire Council, the demons are vampire hunters, there doesn't have to be a war, we might like them just a tiny bit, we still don't like them
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-07
Updated: 2020-11-10
Packaged: 2021-03-09 00:01:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,665
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27305284
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HolyCatsAndRabbits/pseuds/HolyCatsAndRabbits, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Patolozka/pseuds/Patolozka
Summary: The thing was, Crowley still had never really believed that Aziraphale was a vampire. He might have gone as far as to think thatAziraphalebelieved it, but Crowley did not. Not until this moment on the street when he was holding Aziraphale in his arms, and Aziraphale ought to have been dying from a terrible stab wound, but he seemed rather more miffed about the stains on his clothes.This is a collaboration between Patolozka and Dannye (HolyCatsAndRabbits)This collaboration started in July after someone on FB mentioned that Aziraphale would be a great vampire. We started to work on the plot the next week and then decided that Dannye would write the story and Patolozka would do the art and talk rubbish into the plot. 😀 This is the result!*This fic is finished, and a new chapter will post every 3 days*
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 162
Kudos: 262





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> CW: blood (because vampires), non-graphic violence

Crowley was used to creepy. He liked creepy, actually. Big creepy fan him. But this was a bit much. 

He was standing on the street with a knife in one hand and a bloody bookseller in the other— that was literally bloody, by the way, not an expression— and looking down at pool of blood left by yet another bloody man, who’d scarpered off now, and who, having left such a pool of blood, really should not have been able to scarper.

It had snowed a bit earlier, and then promptly melted, and the wet grit on the street crunched beneath Crowley’s shoes. The sound seemed oddly loud, maybe because there had been a lot of shouting a moment ago, and now there was nothing else to listen to besides ragged breathing.

Crowley dropped the knife, which hit the ground with a clatter, and used both hands to hold up his friend Aziraphale. Although Aziraphale had a terrible knife wound in the chest— courtesy of the scarperer— he looked perhaps more mildly inconvenienced than mortally wounded, and Crowley pressed his lips together and remarked calmly, “So. You really are a vampire.”

Aziraphale’s blue eyes widened in surprise, and then his expression turned amused. “My dear— of course I am. You know, it really is a shame that so few people over the centuries have figured that out.”

To Crowley’s credit, he had immediately noticed that _something_ was different about Aziraphale. Two months ago, on a rainy evening after dark, Crowley had found himself walking by a lighted bookshop in Soho. Crowley liked being out and about after dark, but the rain was less pleasant, and so he’d ducked into the shop in search of shelter.

There was no one there. Lights on, yes, but nobody home, as it were. The shop sounded as empty as the grave. The place looked, actually, sort of like a grave (although hardly empty with so many bookshelves everywhere) because it had some cobwebs and dust, and oh yes, an actual honest-to-God _coffin_ in the center of the floor. 

Crowley, as has been stated, was used to creepy. He did creepy for a living, in a way, investing in the purchase of storage facilities and vaults that had been unopened for years, hoping to find something of value in them. He usually did discover things worth money, but he also without exception came across things that were vaguely spooky: abandoned dolls and unlabeled photo albums full of people who were no doubt dead by now, moldy flowers, ancient clothing with yellowing lace. And then there were the occasional seriously weird finds like grimoires, ouija boards stained with melted wax, or collections of human hair. So the coffin thing was perhaps not as off-putting to Crowley as it might have been to someone else.

But speaking of value, this shop, he quickly realized, contained some incredible treasures, if even a few of these books were as old and well-cared for as they looked. Crowley reached out a hand to one of the shelves, but as soon as he’d touched it a voice broke the silence. 

“Are you looking for something, young man?”

Crowley was used to creepy. He jumped anyway, and made some sort of quiet squeaking noise. He found himself looking at a man who was clearly fully dedicated to this _grave_ aesthetic. He was handsome— very handsome, actually, in a goth kind of way, although his hair was white and fluffy rather than the slicked black that would have matched the clothes. Oh, the _clothes._ Right out of the movies. Black trousers and formal jacket over a pristine white shirt, tie, and waistcoat, and yes, _of course,_ there was a cape, black as night outside and blood red where it opened around the man. He was standing next to the coffin and Crowley didn’t know whether to judge him as being a little too committed to the theme or too unimaginative to have spiced it up a little.

That was the thing about Aziraphale. He was _clearly_ a vampire. Clearly. The bookshop (as Crowley came to learn over the next few months) was only open at night. Aziraphale did eat, but avoided garlic. He did drink, but only a little tea (or a rather larger amount of alcohol). He’d offered Crowley tea that first night in the rainstorm, and Crowley had accepted, because how could he not, between the valuable books that Crowley was dying to know more about, and the whole vampire thing, which to be honest, Crowley wanted to know more about as well (although perhaps it was unwise to say one was _dying_ to know more about vampires). Aziraphale told personal anecdotes dating back much farther than he could possibly have been alive, and had the outdated taste in music and ineptitude at modern technology to go with it.

Crowley had also quickly come to understand that although this was a bookshop, the emphasis was on _book_ and not on _shop,_ and that no, Aziraphale was not interested in selling any of his incredible collection. And he was unamused to find that Crowley was interested in buying. Crowley had given that notion up fairly quickly— win some, lose some, he was used to it— and Aziraphale had relaxed a little.

It had been so strangely peaceful and welcoming in the shop that first night. Crowley had sat there listening to the rain falling outside, with a little tea in him and his eyes firmly off of the books. “So,” he said, to the proprietor. “You have a coffin.”

Aziraphale smiled. “Of course. Where do you think I sleep?"

Crowley snorted a laugh. “I just knew you were going to say that. But, um— all by yourself? No victims?”

A ghost of the smile remained when Aziraphale said, “I sleep alone. At the moment.”

Crowley felt rather warmer than he had in a while. He shifted in his chair. “At the moment,” he repeated. “But do people usually survive a night in there with you?”

“I don’t make other vampires,” Aziraphale said. “Nor do I take enough blood from humans to harm them.”

“But you do take blood from, ah, _humans.”_

“On occasion,” Aziraphale said, “I do accept offers.”

But it had never come to anything. Even with all the flirting, even with Crowley fairly obviously making _offers_ because he very much wanted it to come to something. _Fuck,_ he wanted it to, whether they ended up in the coffin or on the couch, maybe even if Aziraphale wanted to actually bite him— except Aziraphale didn’t. He wanted Crowley to linger in the shop until dawn, he wanted to spar with him verbally, he wanted to hint that perhaps they might become better acquainted someday, but he never did anything about it. He didn’t touch Crowley. Not ever. Crowley had no idea why.

Tonight, he was getting a slightly better idea why. Because even with all that, Crowley still had never really believed that Aziraphale was a vampire. He might have gone as far as to think that _Aziraphale_ believed it, but Crowley did not. Not until this moment on the street when he was holding Aziraphale in his arms, and Aziraphale ought to have been dying from a terrible stab wound, but he seemed rather more miffed about the stains on his clothes.

Crowley helped Aziraphale back to the shop as the wind picked up around them, heavy enough to chill Crowley through his coat. Once inside, Crowley got Aziraphale settled on the couch. Crowley was the one who normally sat there when they stayed up half the night talking, but now Aziraphale needed to lie down, so the couch it was. Crowley helped him to remove the cape, and then the jacket, and then the _shirt,_ and Crowley was _Not Thinking_ about all the times he’d sort of idly wondered what Aziraphale looked like under that shirt. This was not the moment for such thoughts. Right now Crowley was just helping his apparently immortal friend remain...immortal. 

Crowley certainly had never imagined Aziraphale hurt like this. He hadn’t ever believed that things like this— violence, intrigue, vampire enemies— might happen to him. He’d thought his friend was as safe as any other man.

Crowley was startled out of his worry when Aziraphale reached up and grasped his wrist. “I’m all right,” he said softly, gazing up into Crowley’s eyes with a different look than Crowley had ever seen from him, something pure and almost commanding— and fuck, could Aziraphale hypnotize people? Vampires could do that, right? Had he ever hypnotized Crowley?

Aziraphale tightened his grip and Crowley blinked. “Right.”

“I won’t die from this,” Aziraphale assured him. “It’s quite a wound, but you got there in time. You saved my life, my friend. Thank you.”

The truth was, Crowley hadn’t even realized the fight was this serious. He’d been on his way to the bookshop and had come upon Aziraphale in the alley next to the shop, in a struggle with another man (who did not, it should be noted, dress like Bela Lugosi in _Dracula),_ and Crowley had just reacted. He’d half-tackled the assailant, kicking his legs out from under him, and the man had dropped his knife, and despite his own wounds, had fled. Crowley hadn’t realized it was a life-and-death contest until he saw all the blood on Aziraphale’s clothes.

Crowley made some noise now and Aziraphale let his hand go. Crowley went into the kitchen and grabbed some towels to put on the wound. It was looking better already when he got back, and Crowley started to think that maybe Aziraphale was right, that he was going to survive this. The thought sent a little skittering of relief through his body. Aziraphale must have sensed it, because his mouth lifted up in a smile. But the vampire— because that was what he actually was, Crowley reminded himself— was still far too pale and a little breathless.

Well. Maybe this was the right time, then. “Do you want to?” Crowley asked. “Uh— or do you need to? I mean, you said you don’t take enough blood from humans to harm them—”

Aziraphale was suddenly out of Crowley’s reach, off the couch and sitting in his usual armchair. Crowley let out a little gasp. Aziraphale had moved so quickly that Crowley had barely seen him go. 

_“No,”_ Aziraphale said firmly, and despite the fact that he was shirtless and had a bloody towel pressed to his chest, he looked rather commanding.

Crowley, to his complete lack of surprise, felt incredibly disappointed. He tried not to show it though, taking his place on the couch and trying for a brave smile. “So,” he said, looking around at the bookshelves. “Well— you said _centuries._ How old are you?”

“That’s a very rude question,” Aziraphale said, but there was no heat to it. “Old enough to have known the authors of my books, most of them.”

“Bram Stoker?” Crowley asked, because he couldn’t not ask about the author of _Dracula._

Aziraphale nodded. “And Edgar Allan Poe. Arthur Conan—”

“You could, you know,” Crowley interrupted. “I mean, I know what you are now, I know it’s real, and that’s okay. It’s okay with me if you need— look, you’ve got to need blood, you were nearly killed.”

Aziraphale looked at him for a moment, with a sadder look than Crowley had ever seen him wear. “I do,” he said quietly. “But not from you.”

oOo

Aziraphale slept a little after that. Not in the coffin, but in the chair, with his head leaned back, breathing quietly. Crowley sat on the couch, and he hadn’t meant to sleep, but he must have, because he woke up to see Aziraphale sitting beside him with a curious look on his face. 

Aziraphale was dressed again, in clean clothes, but he hadn’t replaced his jacket or cape, so he was a rather striking combination of black from the waist down and white from the waist up. There was no sign of blood or injury anywhere, and his face was a bit less pale.

Crowley sat up with a groan, _Not Thinking_ again about how good Aziraphale looked with the soft shape of his body so much more visible than usual. “What time is it?” he asked. “Dawn?”

“No. We’ve a couple of hours still.” Aziraphale’s voice was soft. “You were dreaming.”

“Yup,” Crowley agreed. “So what’s it like, being a vampire?”

Aziraphale raised an elegant eyebrow at the attempt to derail the question. “It’s quite lovely, usually. My dear, what were you dreaming?” When Crowley didn’t answer, Aziraphale placed a gentle hand on his arm. “It upset you,” he explained. “I could feel it.”

Crowley tensed up a little more. “You can like— psychically feel my feelings? I suppose you can hypnotize people too.”

Aziraphale sighed and sat back, removing his hand from Crowley’s arm, to Crowley’s confused disappointment. “It’s called _thrall,”_ Aziraphale said, “and yes, I can use it, and no, I haven’t with you. I rather like my friends to be themselves, not whatever I might make of them.”

“What about people who aren’t your friends?”

Aziraphale laughed, but it was strained. “I seem to be just as frightening to you now as I was covered in blood.”

“Not frightening,” Crowley countered. “Just— different.”

Aziraphale spoke gently, but Crowley could hear the pain in his voice. “My dear, I’m the same person you’ve always known. I’ve never hidden what I am. I’ve always answered your questions honestly.” Aziraphale gave him a hesitant smile. “You just never believed me.”

“Tell me now?” Crowley asked.

Aziraphale sighed. “Well, I’m afraid it’s not a very exciting story. I shall do my best though.” He sat back on the couch, looking as comfortable as one might when wearing most of a formal suit. “I was born a very long time ago, in a small place whose name has long been lost. I had a family. I can barely recall them now. They’re more like feelings than faces. I was loved, I know that. When I reached adulthood, I started working in a library.”

Crowley laughed. “Figures.”

“Yes, well.” Aziraphale’s smile faded. “And then one day, there was a fire. _That_ I can remember so vividly. The red glow and the dark smoke, the smell of charring, the taste of ash on my tongue. Screams—” He broke off. “Well. I guess that part is a little exciting. I was very foolish, though. I went into the building to try to save more scrolls. That turned out to be the wrong decision.”

Aziraphale’s gaze wandered to the bookshelves that surrounded them. “I had lived among the scrolls for so long that I remember thinking it was rather poetic of me to die among them. But then there was someone else there, someone who brought me out into the fresh air again. It was night, and I was so badly injured, and I remember this person as a beautiful creature that almost glowed in the dark. They gave me something to drink, and that was all I knew for a while. When I woke up it was night again, and I was as you see me now. Restored to a life not quite what it was before, but close.”

Crowley held up a finger. “Hang on. Scrolls?”

“Yes.”

“Like people haven’t used for thousands of years?”

“Actually,” Aziraphale said, looking enthusiastic about the topic, “did you know that there are still—”

“How old are you?” Crowley interrupted.

Aziraphale frowned to himself. “Fine. Ah— a little over two thousand? That sounds right. It’s just, you get to a certain point and there’s not much reason to keep track anymore.”

Crowley just stared at him. “You worked at the Great Library of Alexandria.”

“Oh, I wish you could have seen it,” Aziraphale said, smiling. “Especially in the morning, with the natural light coming in.” He looked at the darkened windows behind their shades. “Of course, I don’t see the natural light much now.”

Aziraphale must have put the kettle on when Crowley was asleep, because it sang out shrilly. Aziraphale disappeared into the back and came out again with two cups of tea. 

“Do you regret it?” Crowley asked. “What happened to you?”

Aziraphale smiled, putting sugar in his tea. “Oh, no. I’ve enjoyed it, for the most part. There are some distasteful bits, but there are also some especially lovely ones—”

“Like what?”

Aziraphale’s blue eyes lit up. “Well, besides all the extra years to read, I do enjoy transforming into animals. Of course, it’s almost more fun just to be a bit of mist. It’s cool and light and peaceful—” He broke off, catching Crowley’s expression.

Crowley said, succinctly, “Bullshit.”

Aziraphale frowned at him in a severe way, as if Crowley might have attempted to touch a book. “My dear, I may not be able to transform at the moment, but that doesn’t mean it’s bull—” He didn’t finish the word. “Well. What I mean is that I’m too injured to—”

Crowley sat up suddenly. “You’re still hurt?” He reached out toward Aziraphale’s chest and stopped himself just in time, his hand wavering in space.

Aziraphale was giving him a sort of soft, stunned look. “I’m all right,” he breathed. “Please don’t worry.” 

Crowley returned his hand to his lap. “No, right. Of course. Sorry.”

“No, I— it’s very nice of you.”

Crowley made some sort of anxious noise. “You were telling me the not-exciting story,” he reminded Aziraphale.

“Oh, yes. Well, transformation is quite spectacular, but the rest of it is not so dramatic. I can see in the dark, and my hearing is quite good. I can move very quickly when I want to, and I’m stronger than a human.” He shrugged one shoulder. “There’s not much else to it.”

“Except thrall?”

Aziraphale gave a displeased sigh. “Thrall is for subduing victims. As I don’t have a need to do that, I don’t use it much. I’m really terribly out of practice, my dear, you needn’t be concerned.”

“You don’t have a need—” Crowley frowned. “But you eat— you drink blood.”

“Yes.”

“From humans.”

“Yes.”

“But you don’t have victims.”

Aziraphale scoffed. “Oh, good heavens. I’m far too old to be attacking people. It’s messy, for one thing. Terribly difficult to get blood out of my clothing. The things I had on earlier are completely ruined. But there are plenty of humans willing to sell their blood. It’s not as potent as it would be directly from a living source, but it’s more than enough to sustain a vampire. We aren’t— well, _some of us_ aren’t monsters.”

“Never thought you were,” Crowley offered, and this got him a full smile, which was, ironically, bright as sunshine.

“Not attacking people keeps me safer, in any case. We’re only immortal as long as we don’t die, you know,” Aziraphale said with a laugh. “Vampires are susceptible to sunlight, fire, crosses, garlic, stakes, silver knives—” Aziraphale’s smile faded and he rubbed a little at his shoulder. “I’m sorry that you— well, I’m _lucky_ that you came along, but I wish you hadn’t had to be involved with what happened to me.”

“Who was that?” Crowley asked. “Another vampire?”

“Yes,” Aziraphale said, and he didn’t elaborate. He looked at the windows again. “It’s nearly dawn. Before you go, I need you to please tell me what you were dreaming about.”

Crowley was startled to have him come back to that. “Why?”

Aziraphale sighed. “I really am very sorry, my dear, but I’m not going to answer that one. Not yet.” He gave Crowley a soft, unsure look, and all Crowley wanted to do was to soothe him. Aziraphale might not use thrall, but as long as he could make that face, he probably didn’t need it.

The best Crowley could do was to make a counter-offer. “Fine. But I want to see your teeth do the thing. Fangs.”

Aziraphale visibly tensed. “Why?”

“I don’t have to say why either.” Crowley wasn’t sure how far the _I-can-feel-your-feelings_ thing went, and he was desperately hoping that Aziraphale was not picking up on the answer.

“I don’t want to frighten you,” Aziraphale protested.

Crowley snorted. “Too late for that. But I’m still here, aren’t I?”

Aziraphale still looked very reluctant, but he slowly opened his mouth and drew his upper lip back. His incisors had grown very long and very sharp.

And that answered Crowley’s question. It was, in fact, as hot as he had imagined. Maybe more. Aziraphale had always looked like a vampire, but in the sense of an actor playing a role. With fangs, his softness seemed to fade away and in its place was a power that Crowley could almost feel, something dangerous, something deadly.

“Okay,” he said faintly.

Aziraphale closed his mouth again, studying Crowley’s expression closely. Whatever he saw there, mercifully, he didn’t remark on it. “Your dream,” he ordered.

Crowley shifted on the couch. “I’ve had it on and off for a while. There’s not much to it, really. Just two things: an apple and a snake. The snake bites the apple, breaking the skin, and juice flies everywhere, and somehow I feel like— like something is about to happen, and I don’t know if it’s going to be good or bad, but it’s _coming,_ and can’t be stopped. But I never find out what it is. I just wake up.”

Aziraphale looked as if he weren’t terribly surprised, but he said nothing more about it, and Crowley was glad to let it drop. “Can I come back tonight?” he asked. “Check on you?”

Aziraphale got that soft smile on his face again. “I wish you would.”

* * *

_He’d been on his way to the bookshop and had come upon Aziraphale in the alley next to the shop, in a struggle with another man.  
_

* * *

__

* * *


	2. Chapter 2

Aziraphale awoke that night at sunset to the sound of feet on the bookshop floor. It was Crowley, he could tell that easily. Crowley had a distinctive way of walking, where his hips somehow moved greater distances than the rest of his legs, making his feet cross each other at every step. Aziraphale pushed open the lid to his coffin and was greeted by the familiar sight of red hair and hazel eyes, and tonight, a hesitant smile.

Aziraphale made a show of patting at the wound site on his chest. “I’ve healed,” he assured Crowley. “Back to normal.”

“You’re hardly normal,” Crowley quipped, but he smiled more easily then. He was, rather unfortunately for Aziraphale, stunningly beautiful when he smiled. Aziraphale took the hand Crowley offered to help him out of the coffin. Crowley was very strong. Aziraphale had seen that clearly the night before when Crowley had practically carried him back to the bookshop.

Crowley had a bottle in his other hand, and he showed it to Aziraphale. “I brought a nice red.” He frowned suddenly. “I suppose that’s a bit of a cliche. Vampires and red wine.”

Aziraphale laughed. “On the contrary, my dear, it’s a pleasant surprise.”

They had finished that bottle and were halfway through one from Aziraphale’s collection when Crowley asked, “So why the cape? Seriously.”

Aziraphale gave him an affronted look. “It’s stylish.”

This sent Crowley into tipsy giggles, which were entirely too attractive. It really was disconcerting how right it looked to have this beautiful person in the bookshop, on the couch, how easily he seemed to fit into Aziraphale’s life. And Aziraphale wanted him there.

It had been obvious that Crowley didn’t believe the vampire thing, and at first, Aziraphale had been glad for it. He feared Crowley would flee if he knew the truth, and Aziraphale had very quickly gotten far too attached to him. But now Crowley did know. He’d stepped into a fight to save Aziraphale’s life and even after that he was still here. Crowley was one of the bravest people Aziraphale had ever met. 

Of course, there was still one rather large problem with the situation, something which Crowley was not aware of. If he found out— _when_ he found out, he was going to need that courage, and so would Aziraphale. And it wouldn’t be long. Judging by the dreams he was having, Crowley’s subconscious wanted him to know the truth about himself. Crowley deserved to know. But if he did, he might leave, and Aziraphale— Aziraphale was growing addicted to how good Crowley looked giggling on his couch. And so he said nothing. Not yet.

“You just— you look like Bela Lugosi in _Dracula,”_ Crowley informed him, pointing rather rudely at his clothes.

Aziraphale sighed. “My dear, I assure you that it’s actually quite the opposite. Bela Lugosi rather looked like _me.”_

Crowley sat up on the couch. “You knew him.”

“Of course.”

“You gave _fashion advice_ to _Dracula.”_

“I did.”

“Did he know what you were?”

Aziraphale raised an eyebrow. “Well, he’d hardly take costuming direction from some random human, now would he?”

Crowley fell back into the couch again. “Bela Lugosi knew vampires were real.” His eyes suddenly widened. “Did you make him a real vampire? Is he still around somewhere?” He looked about the shop as if he expected the actor to materialize at his cue.

Aziraphale gave a weary sigh. “Yes, dear. He’s part of the vampire army that I keep in the back room, ready to overthrow governments and rule the world.”

Crowley made a rude noise. “You could have just said _no.”_

 _“You_ could have asked a less stupid question.” Aziraphale poured himself another glass of wine. “You know, it really is a pity that vampire actors today don’t dress like this anymore. I can’t understand it. It’s undignified.”

Crowley snorted into his wine glass. “And the coffin?”

Aziraphale glanced at his bed. “What about it?”

“It’s—” Crowley waved a hand at it. “It’s just so—” He sighed. “Never mind. Can’t imagine you in anything else.”

Aziraphale sniffed. “Of course not. I have standards.”

There was a faint knock at the door, and they both turned their heads, making Aziraphale notice, again, how perceptive Crowley’s hearing was.

Aziraphale stood up, rubbing his hands together in anticipation. “I hope that’s the delivery van. I’m expecting a first edition, and a few other things.”

They opened the door to see a man offloading a large wooden crate onto a cart. 

“Just a few other things, huh?” Crowley remarked dryly. 

Aziraphale smiled as he signed the receipt, and Crowley bent to help the man with the crate, lifting it an inch or so that the cart could pull away. Crowley grunted at the weight, but the delivery man was quite suitably impressed by Crowley’s strength. Crowley didn’t seem to notice. Aziraphale suspected he was just used to it. After all, Crowley would have been this way since birth.

The delivery man got back into his truck, and Crowley looked down at the crate, his hands on his hips. He glanced into the lighted shop. “Where do you keep your cart? I can fetch it for you.”

Aziraphale gave him an amused glance. “My what?”

Crowley looked confused. “You know, made of metal, rolls on wheels, carries crates of books?”

“My dear,” Aziraphale said, “whyever would I need such a thing?” He bent down, worked his hands under the edges of the crate, and then lifted it with ease.

Crowley’s mouth fell open. “Get the door please, will you?” Aziraphale asked, and Crowley hastened to obey, shutting the door behind them as they came into the shop. 

Aziraphale carried the crate back to the sitting area and set it gently on the floor. “Oh, I do hope this contains the book I’ve been expecting.”

Crowley came over to see. His mouth was still open.

“Are you all right?” Aziraphale asked with a smirk.

“Yeah— yeah, fine. You— you said you were strong. Guess I didn’t quite know what you meant.”

“It is a lovely perk when one owns a bookshop,” Aziraphale said.

“Guess it would be,” Crowley said faintly. 

Aziraphale turned his attention to the crate. It wasn’t much work to get the lid off, and then he carefully drew back the fabric that covered the books inside. The very top item was the one he’d been looking for. 

Aziraphale broke out into a grin. “Oh, it’s here.” He lifted the book carefully, examining the spine. The cover was smooth beneath his fingers, and he wondered, as he often did, how many others had touched this book, how many human lives had come and gone during its existence. 

“I have been searching for this exact book for more than a _century,”_ Aziraphale said. “Oh, to finally hold it.” He reverently opened the book, noting the signature opposite the frontispiece. _Charles Dickens._

Aziraphale gave a little laugh and clutched the book against his chest. “Oh, my dear, this is just the best—”

Aziraphale lost the rest of that sentence against Crowley’s mouth. Because Crowley had leaned forward and pressed his mouth against Aziraphale’s. Aziraphale was being kissed, very softly, by a truly beautiful man, and he couldn’t help but lean into it, parting his lips a little against Crowley’s.

But Crowley suddenly pulled back and looked at Aziraphale with wide eyes. “Oh, no,” he breathed. “Damn it. I didn’t mean to do that.”

Aziraphale felt his mood fall. “Oh. You didn’t?”

Crowley shook his head rapidly. “No. No. Had a bit to drink, and then the crate thing, because that was really— well, hot, and then you looked— when you smile, it’s—” He rubbed both hands over his face. “Sorry. I didn’t even ask you— Look, I swear, I don’t have a vampire kink.”

But Crowley’s gaze swept down Aziraphale’s body and back up again, and his face flushed red. Aziraphale could see an artery pulsing in his throat, and he fought the instinctual lengthening of his fangs at the sight. “Fuck,” Crowley said softly. “Maybe I do.”

That was most likely true, Aziraphale knew, because some of it was no doubt just Crowley’s instincts on vampires coming into play, operating within him even though Crowley wasn’t aware that they existed. And some of it on Aziraphale’s part was just that Crowley had offered once to let Aziraphale sink his teeth into him.

But it wasn’t all that. It couldn’t be. Aziraphale couldn’t let himself believe that it was. 

Crowley was still apologizing, and Aziraphale grasped him gently by the lapel of his black jacket. Crowley fell silent, looking from Aziraphale’s hand to his face.

“Having a vampire kink is kind of a prerequisite for kissing a vampire,” Aziraphale said softly.

Crowley’s gaze had gotten stuck now on Aziraphale’s mouth. “Oh,” he said. “I guess it is.” He swallowed. “You— um, I don’t suppose you have a human kink?”

Aziraphale laughed. “Many vampires do.”

Crowley shifted on his feet. “Do you?”

Aziraphale brought up a hand and slid it gently around the back of Crowley’s neck, slipping his fingers into the scarlet hair. “I just want you.”

Crowley’s heartbeat jumped at that, Aziraphale could _hear_ it. “I’m here,” he said.

The kiss Aziraphale gave Crowley was warmer, deeper, and Crowley groaned into it. His arms came up to wrap around Aziraphale, and they held each other that way, the book between them, while Aziraphale thoroughly tasted his mouth. When he pulled back, Crowley gave him a dazed smile, which was just as beautiful as all his other smiles.

Aziraphale could do nothing but smile back at him.

oOo

Two nights later, when the sun had sunk behind the buildings opposite the bookshop, Aziraphale was already awake. He climbed out of bed as soon as the daylight had become full twilight, and the street outside had filled with blue shadows. When true darkness fell, there was a knock at the bookshop door. It wasn’t Crowley, of course— he didn’t knock. But it was someone else Aziraphale was looking forward to seeing.

His friend Ana was tall and youthful, with dark hair caught up in a braid. She always had an energetic bounce to her step, which made sense. She’d been barely twenty-five when she’d died.

They chatted while Aziraphale poured wine, and Ana then perched on the arm of Aziraphale’s sofa. “So,” she said, “you’ve made a new friend. I guess there has to be someone out there who appreciates that outfit of yours.”

Aziraphale arched an eyebrow at her. “You young people have no idea what constitutes proper dress.”

“I’m not young, I’m two hundred and six,” Ana reminded him. “I met Bela Lugosi at one of your parties. You were a terrible influence on him.”

Aziraphale clicked his tongue disapprovingly. “I’m sorry, but you need to be at least a thousand before you are allowed to make unsolicited comments on my clothing.”

Ana rolled her eyes. “If my Aunt Agnes can dress in modern styles—”

“Your Aunt Agnes has absolutely no manners,” Aziraphale huffed. “Marched in here one evening uninvited, introduced you as her niece, informed _you_ that _I_ would be of use at some point in the future, and then told me she’d see me again in Lancaster on the fourth of May, 1842, and not to be late. And I’d barely any idea who she was.”

Ana laughed. “She has a way about her. But she was on the Council in the 1700’s, you never crossed paths then?”

“I don’t spend time with the Vampire Council, if I can help it.”

“Well, that’s for the best.” Ana sighed. “It’s not that she’s rude, you know. Agnes has the Sight. More than anybody else in my family. She operates on things we can’t see or understand. Everybody thought she was burned at the stake for witchcraft in 1656, but then she showed up at my house a couple hundred years ago, introduced herself as my ancestor, turned me into a vampire, and then fucked off again, until it was time to introduce me to you. And now she’s who knows where. Was she in Lancaster in 1842?”

“Of course. Handed me a book I’d been looking for. Turned out to be helpful to me later.”

“So no manners, but a nice lady.”

Aziraphale rolled his eyes. 

“So dish,” Ana said. “What’s this Crowley like? Handsome? Dear Lord, are you blushing?” She cackled. “Oh, Az, I’m loving this.”

“You also don’t have permission to call me Az. What did you find out about Crowley’s parents?”

Ana stopped smiling. “It’s worse than you thought, I’m afraid. The Council got involved. They split them up, Aziraphale. Tore them apart. Bastards.”

Aziraphale closed his eyes. His arms felt empty suddenly, and he wanted them to be filled with Crowley.

“His mother’s name was Isobel,” Ana said. “She was Scottish. His father, I’m not sure. But Crowley was a three-year-old kid when it happened. He went into foster care.”

“The Council is not very tolerant,” Aziraphale growled.

Ana frowned at him. “No, Az, they’re not, and they’re getting worse. It’s not like before. For some reason, they want you gone.”

Aziraphale scoffed. “Gabriel wouldn’t dare. Not when She’s—”

“But She’s not! The one who turned you, who saved your life in Alexandria— Aziraphale, no one’s seen Her for thousands of years. And the Council is getting bold in Her absence. They tried to kill you!”

“A random vampire in an alley tried to kill me.”

“We both know it was the Council.”

“The Council has no reason to kill me. I’ve stayed out of their affairs my whole life. What could I possibly have done?”

Ana shrugged. “I don’t know. But you could use some help.”

Aziraphale smiled at her. “Oh, my dear. Thank you. But I don’t wish to put you in danger.”

Ana burst out laughing. “Not me, you idiot!” She pointed to where the bookshop door was swinging open. “I meant him. He’s rather suited to it, if you know what I mean.”

Aziraphale turned to watch Crowley walk in, unable to keep from smiling at him, despite his worry. He was wearing an awfully tight pair of black jeans with a red shirt. Aziraphale wasn’t sure if Crowley realized that he was beginning to dress in Aziraphale’s colors rather than just in black. “My dear,” he said to Ana, “this is Crowley. Crowley, my friend Anathema.”

Crowley smiled, a little shyly. “Hey. Didn’t know Aziraphale had friends who had clothes from this century.”

Ana cackled again, and Aziraphale sighed. “The two of you have absolutely no taste at all.”

Crowley took a seat in one of the armchairs. “Are you here to talk about the attack on Aziraphale?” he asked. “Do you know who it was?”

Ana stood and drank the last of the wine in her cup. “This is a discussion for the two of you, I think. Great to see you, Az. I’ll be in touch.” She kissed the vampire lightly on the cheek. “And good to meet you, Crowley. I’m sure I’ll see you again sometime.”

As Ana left, Crowley fixed his gaze on Aziraphale, looking darkly serious. “So? Who was it?”

“Well,” Aziraphale hedged, “we’re not entirely sure on the exact identity—”

“Then who sent him?” Aziraphale hesitated long enough that Crowley groaned at him. “Aziraphale. You’ve got to let me help you.”

“It’s dangerous.”

“I’ve done dangerous!” Crowley exclaimed, with a bit of bravado. “Vampires in a knife fight, if you’ll recall.”

“And my dear, _I_ don’t want to be the one who hurts you, but—”

“Then don’t push me away.”

Crowley was beautiful, sitting there in the armchair. Beautiful and alive and Aziraphale wondered how the Council could ever have seen him as a mistake. But was Aziraphale treating him the same way? As someone whose life didn’t matter?

“Look,” Crowley said, “I know I must seem incredibly young to you, and probably you think I’m a complete idiot, and I know that all of this vampire stuff is— _creepy,_ and probably not suitable for a human to get mixed up in. But I like creepy. Big creepy fan, me.”

Aziraphale laughed in spite of himself.

“And I like you,” Crowley said. “A lot.”

Aziraphale almost felt himself blush, and that hadn’t happened in centuries, despite what Anathema thought. 

“And I know you like me,” Crowley said softly. “So let’s protect each other.”

Aziraphale was under no illusions as to his ability to resist giving in to Crowley’s wishes. He nodded. “All right.”

oOo

It had seemed like a good idea to Crowley. _Let’s protect each other._ After all, he had protected Aziraphale once already, hadn’t he? The knife fight in the alley. And Aziraphale was a _vampire._ Crowley had seen his strength and speed. So Crowley wasn’t worried. 

He should have been. But he wasn’t.

It happened a week later. Crowley had well and truly flipped his schedule around to be awake at night and asleep during the day like Aziraphale, but unfortunately, the rest of the world had not reoriented itself to accommodate Crowley. (Crowley had never really noticed exactly how much trumpet his neighbor played in the mornings until he was trying to sleep through it.) So that day, although Crowley was exhausted, he was doing his job, sitting in his flat in Mayfair, following up leads on storage vaults, answering emails, making spreadsheets, and most importantly, participating in a bid that afternoon.

The bid meant Crowley ending up standing around in the hot sun holding a very large iced coffee that he’d gotten along with his fast food lunch, waiting for other bidders to show up at the storage facility where a few vaults had been abandoned. Crowley had never been terribly fond of the heat of sunlight, and his mind drifted, for the millionth time, to the idea of being a vampire. He kept weighing the pros and cons of it, always keeping it light, just a thought exercise. What would he lose, what would he gain? 

He steadfastly ignored all thoughts about whether Aziraphale would want to turn him into a vampire, whether Aziraphale might be falling in love with him, whether Crowley was falling in love as well, and mostly importantly, whether anyone would actually want to spend an eternity with Crowley. In any case, Crowley had put _hot sunlight_ into the _Would not miss_ category.

The bid went well. Crowley won two vaults, and the first contained a few things of interest: furniture, vinyl records. The second had a collection of dolls still in their boxes, and Crowley knew they’d be worth something. So while he was exhausted when he arrived at Aziraphale’s bookshop at sundown, Crowley was also fairly happy. Well, he was happy anytime he was planning to see Aziraphale, of course. And then— and then there was blood everywhere. Bloody hell, there was quite a lot of blood. And this time it was his.

Maybe Crowley was in shock because he was smiling like an idiot at Aziraphale, his hero, who was clutching him in his arms and trembling with real anger. It had all happened so quickly. Crowley had come into the shop, and someone else was there— someone small with dark hair, and hands sharp with knives. And Crowley had thought, _great, more knives,_ and then this time he’d gotten much a closer look at them. 

Aziraphale had still been in his coffin, but Crowley shouted, and then Aziraphale was there, and the attacker was sitting on the floor by a bookshelf, looking dazed. But they pushed themselves up off the ground, knives still out. 

This time, Aziraphale cut them off with words. “This one is not your target, hunter.”

The person didn’t lower their knives. “He’s not yours either, vampire. Let him go.”

Aziraphale made an exasperated noise. “He’s not my meal, you idiot. He’s my friend!”

The hunter had dark eyes and they flicked over Aziraphale uncertainly. “Are you protecting him?” They sounded rather bewildered by the idea.

“I am.”

“But he’s a human—” The hunter stopped abruptly, peering at Crowley. Crowley felt that it would have been nice if this scrutiny could have come _before_ the knife attack. And then the hunter asked, _“What is he?”_

Crowley was confused, and this conversation was not helping. Aziraphale was pressing a cloth to Crowley’s thigh, which seemed to have the worst wound. Aziraphale did not answer the question. Instead, he said, “You’re working for vampires, did you know that? I believe that the Council hired you to kill me.”

The hunter started looking as confused as Crowley felt. When Aziraphale told him there were more bandages in the bathroom, the hunter fetched them without a word.

When they came back, Crowley suddenly realized something. “Hey, I know you!” he exclaimed. “You won the vault in Baskerville that I wanted so badly, you cheating bastard!”

The hunter— Beez, was it?— looked at him in surprise.

“What was in there?” Crowley demanded, ignoring Aziraphale trying to quiet him.

Beez stared at him a moment longer, and then snapped, “Nothing of your interest.”

Crowley smiled a little. “So nothing valuable.”

“Of course there was!”

“There was not, otherwise you’d mock me like the devil you are. Did you really have to stab me?”

Beez opened their mouth to reply, and Aziraphale cut them off. “Would you two mind terribly having this conversation some other time?”

Beez growled. “Why would the Council want you dead? What have you done?”

Aziraphale made a dismissive snorting noise. He was examining a cut on Crowley’s wrist. “The Council and I have not crossed paths in millennia. I have no idea what goes through their heads.”

“Is it about him?” Beez asked.

“It started before him.” Aziraphale gave Beez a very cold look. “They don’t know about him, and it’s going to remain that way.”

“You don’t give me orders, vampire!”

“Then don’t attack my best friend!” 

Crowley felt a rush of warmth at this and smiled up at Aziraphale.

“Didn’t mean to,” Beez grumbled. “He surprised me.”

“Then you’re a lousy hunter.”

“And you’re a lousy vampire, if even your own kind wants you dead! Is it the clothes?”

Crowley hastened to reply before Aziraphale could. “Hey! Not the clothes! That’s off-limits.” He groaned a little and managed to sit up on his own. His wounds were bandaged now, but the pain was really setting in. Aziraphale shushed him gently.

Beez made a growling noise. “I don’t like this. I don’t like being used for politics.”

“But it’s fine that you kill vampires for other reasons?” Crowley snapped.

“They’re usually not like _him,”_ Beez muttered. “I’ll check into it.”

“Yeah, you have fun with that,” Crowley said as the hunter stomped out of the bookshop.

Aziraphale knelt on the floor by the couch and checked Crowley over once again for other wounds. “I don’t suppose you know what blood type you are,” Aziraphale said softly. “I have some here—”

“It’s that bad, is it?”

“Not— not yet. I think it’s stopped, but—”

Crowley gave him what was meant to be a suave smile. “Well, can't you guess the type?"

Aziraphale let out a pained laugh. "I'm trying very hard not to."

“Don’t worry, angel, all I need is a little rest, maybe use your shower, then your comfortable coffin-bed there.”

“Angel?” Aziraphale asked softly.

Crowley was still smiling. “Well, yeah. Guardian angel. Fixed me up. You’re amazing, you know. My hero."

“I’m the one who got you into this situation.”

“No. My choice.”

"Crowley, my dear—” Aziraphale looked a mixture of fond and worried. “I— I don’t have a shower. Only a bath.”

Crowley laughed. “It’s all right. I’ll be fine. It’s just the pain, really.”

Aziraphale looked even more nervous for a moment. “Oh. Well, I— I can help you with that. If you’ll allow it.”

“Help me how?”

“Thrall,” Aziraphale said lightly.

“I thought you were out of practice.”

“I am. But pain control is not complicated. It’s just— I don’t want to scare you. I don’t want you to think that I would ever— but you’re in pain, and—”

Crowley leaned down and kissed him lightly on the cheek. “I trust you, angel.” 

oOo

When Crowley awoke next it was to warmth and comfort and with a peace he hadn’t felt in a while. There was a soreness in his leg, and he stretched it gently, feeling how it moved against something soft, and to the back, something hard. The edge of the coffin.

Crowley opened his eyes to see blond curls and a gently smiling vampire. Crowley was held close in his arms, his head pillowed on Aziraphale’s shoulder. The lid was open above them, and Crowley could see bookshelves. Perhaps it should have been a little bit frightening to wake up in a coffin in a vampire’s arms, but instead Crowley felt _safe._

“Evening,” he said, trying for a suave smile rather than a foolishly happy one.

“How do you feel?” Aziraphale asked him.

“Better than I should, probably.”

“I’ll have to check over your wounds.”

Crowley frowned. “Does that require getting up? Because that sounds like something that would require getting up.”

Aziraphale smiled rather foolishly himself and pressed a kiss to Crowley’s forehead. “It does, I’m afraid.”

“Then it can wait.” Crowley shifted a little in Aziraphale’s arms in a way that was definitely not _snuggling,_ but might have been taken for snuggling by an uninformed spectator. “Wounded, you know,” Crowley said. “Need my sleep.”

Aziraphale fortunately did not object to this, and drew Crowley a little closer. Crowley thought he dozed off again for a little while, and then he woke suddenly to Aziraphale talking. 

“You know, it’s polite to knock.”

Crowley opened his eyes to see Beez, the vampire hunter, staring down at them. Crowley startled a little, but Aziraphale hushed him, keeping him within a strong embrace. 

Beez did not look at all appreciative of the romantic scene. They growled a little. “Seems there is trouble in paradise with your lot, from what I could find out. I’ll try again: why do the Council want you gone, vampire?”

Aziraphale sat up, bringing Crowley with him. “I told you, I don’t know.” He sighed. “I was actually hoping you might find out when you were poking around.”

Beez shook their head. “I’ll keep looking. Still don’t like you,” they added with a severe frown.

“The feeling is mutual!” Crowley growled.

Beez did not seem overly insulted. “But I don’t like being fooled. You’re at least telling me the truth. So we’ll be a fun group. A vampire hunter, a vampire, and a— whatever he is,” they said, gesturing to Crowley. They turned to go.

“How are we going to find you?” Crowley demanded.

Beez spread their arms in a mock bow. “I shall appear when needed!” they exclaimed, and then they were out the door again.

“At least they don’t stay long,” Crowley said. “Um— Aziraphale—”

He felt Aziraphale sigh as much as he heard it. “Yes, my dear. The time has come for me to tell you something.” He stepped gracefully out of the coffin and gave Crowley his hand.

There was silence for another few minutes as Aziraphale checked Crowley’s wounds. The only serious ones left were the thigh and wrist. They still hardly hurt at all. Crowley eventually put his hand on Aziraphale’s arm to still him. “All right, bookseller. Spin me another tale.”

Aziraphale took a seat beside Crowley on the sofa. “It isn’t a bad story,” he said. “Well, I should probably say it’s not _all_ bad. Crowley, do you remember your parents at all?”

Crowley shook his head. “No. Died when I was three. First foster family I went to was all right. Second one adopted me. We’ve had our ups and downs, you know, but they’re good people. They adopted three kids, actually.”

“And— did you perhaps notice that you were a little different from the other children?” Aziraphale asked. “Stronger? Better hearing?”

Crowley cut to the chase. “Am I part vampire?”

“You’re half.” Aziraphale sat there calmly, quite as if he hadn’t said something ridiculous.

“Didn’t know vampires could have kids,” Crowley managed to say.

“It’s possible. Not common. And it’s forbidden by the Council.” Aziraphale didn’t really change expression, but Crowley could almost feel anger coming off of him. “My dear, I honestly don’t know why the Council has an issue with me. But what I learned of your parents— after that I am afraid I have quite an issue with _them.”_

“Did they kill my parents?” Crowley asked.

Aziraphale took his hand. “I don’t know. I don’t even know if your parents actually _are_ dead. Your mother’s name was Isobel. I did some research myself, and I think it’s possible she was Isobel Gowdie of Scotland. Supposedly strangled and burned in 1662 for witchcraft. That was a common mistake for humans at that time, conflating vampires and witches. Happened to Agnes as well. Of course, both women managed to escape somehow, without letting the humans know. I never met Isobel, but she was apparently a remarkable woman. Perhaps the type to take a long-term human lover.”

Crowley felt a little colder. “That’s not allowed?”

Aziraphale frowned. “It’s— not encouraged. But if there are no children from the match, then everyone tends to look the other way. I would expect the Council to have killed you as a child, but they didn’t. It’s possible they just lost track of you. They don’t always understand the way human laws work. They don’t live among humans as I do. My dear, I am sorry that I didn’t tell you earlier. I thought it might be easiest if you began realizing it yourself before I said anything.”

Crowley sighed heavily, but he took Aziraphale’s other hand. “I’m not mad, angel, don’t worry. It’s just a lot to spring on a person.”

Aziraphale looked slightly mollified. “I will tell you the truth now. Any question you have.”

Crowley shrugged. “What am I?”

Aziraphale seemed to settle back into story-telling mode. “Well, it’s almost more about what you are not. You are not human. Your senses are stronger, especially your eyesight at night, and your strength is greater. You have quicker reflexes— it’s how you drive that terrible car of yours so awfully fast. Rather too fast for me, I must say.” He gave Crowley an admonishing look. “And if you are not somehow killed, you will likely live a very, very long time. Far longer than a human.

“But you are also not a vampire. You don’t need blood to survive, and the only injury you get from daylight is a simple sunburn. You are not as strong as we are, not as resistant to injury. You can’t transform or use thrall.” 

Aziraphale squeezed Crowley’s hand. “You are your own creature, Crowley. You have instincts that drive you to seek out vampires, but we are not your kind any more than the humans are. No matter how much you search, my dear, it’s unlikely you will ever meet another person quite like you. But I—” He gave Crowley a hesitant look. _“I_ am very glad to have met you.”

“So you don’t mind,” Crowley said, trying not to make it sound like a question. “That I’m some sort of— I don’t know. Hybrid?”

Aziraphale met his eyes with obvious honesty. “Oh, my dear. You are unique and beautiful. You exist because your parents loved each other across a border that few are brave enough to cross. There is nothing wrong with you. I’m just so sorry that my kind was so cruel as to break up your family.”

Crowley felt a sting of tears in his eyes. “You wouldn’t, though. You couldn’t be like them.”

Aziraphale spoke firmly. “You may be a very rare creation, my dear, but you are not alone. I am on your side.” 

oOo

That night wasn't stormy. In fact it was a warm, peaceful night, and they spent it cuddling on the sofa, silently reading (on Aziraphale’s part) and not so silently snoring (on Crowley's part). It was a good night. 

But the game was on and life wouldn’t wait even for the wicked, and so the next day they separated to follow their own routines. While Aziraphale was in the bookshop, Crowley had to catch up with his job, and so drove (just as quickly as ever, thank you very much) to a small village called Tadfield. He was chasing an offer he couldn’t refuse, and it wasn’t until later that Crowley realized that perhaps he ought to have been more suspicious of such a thing, especially right now.

But instead, he spent the day in blissful ignorance, working through the contents of a particularly valuable estate, re-listing items on his website, making arrangements to have what was broken fixed. He had no idea that something had gone terribly wrong until he met the talking cat.

Evening had fallen by then, and Crowley was headed back to his car. The cat was black, and seemed to make a point of repeatedly crossing Crowley’s path no matter where he stepped. When the cat had spiraled around his legs a few times, it sat down in front of him, looked up with green eyes and said, “Hurry, you fool, it’s started!”

* * *

* * *

_Aziraphale was being kissed, very softly, by a truly beautiful man, and he couldn’t help but lean into it, parting his lips a little against Crowley’s._

* * *


	3. Chapter 3

Aziraphale had expected that if the Vampire Council ever did get hold of him, that they would take him to a torture chamber. Somewhere dark and dank with chains and so forth, and really, he would have been appropriately dressed for such a properly gothic setting.

Instead, they took him to some nondescript building and settled him into a random grey and mauve conference room with a large table and some chairs with metal arms. Aziraphale suppressed a sigh. Really, people had no sense of style anymore.

The Council had come into the bookshop in force. Perhaps (probably) Aziraphale should have been more prudent, should have shut the shop and moved away. But hiding was not part of his nature. He didn’t hide himself from humans, despite knowing how afraid of him they would be if they knew the truth about him. How much worse it would have been for him to have to hide from his own kind?

Besides, Aziraphale wanted answers. The Council had a lot to answer for.

Gabriel was at the conference table, along with Michael and the rest of the Council members, all dressed in white, looking very official and officious, and terribly offensive. A few more vampires were in attendance, sitting in chairs along the back wall. There were thirteen of them altogether. Aziraphale had one end of the table to himself.

“I don’t suppose I might expect the help of a defense lawyer?” Aziraphale asked.

Gabriel just smiled at him. “Lawyers are for the innocent, sunshine.”

Aziraphale winced at the derogatory name. “That’s— that’s not how it works. But I suppose I should expect nothing else, seeing as you already sent two executioners after me even before my trial. So. What am I being tried for?”

“Fraternizing,” Gabriel said.

“Frat— _what?”_

“You’ve been spending time among humans.”

Aziraphale raised his eyebrows in surprise. “I have lived among humans for millennia. It’s not illegal. If it were suddenly made illegal, you should have informed me.”

“I sent notes,” Gabriel snapped.

“You sent— you sent _one_ note, Gabriel. Three hundred years ago, when I saved a man from being murdered, which I do not regret, and I must say that it was quite a rude note!” 

Aziraphale looked around the room and felt his spirit sinking lower. No one but him seemed to think that he was the one making sense. “Look, I’ve never been a danger to humans. I don’t know why you’ve suddenly become concerned about it now, but I’ve always followed the rules. I don’t feed on humans. I don’t hunt them, don’t kill them. No one will ever be able to follow a trail of bodies back to my shop and realize that vampires are real and a threat. If you think it’s too dangerous for me to live among them, then I suppose— I suppose I can remedy that. But I don’t understand why you think I should be _killed_ for—”

“How about treason, then?” Michael asked.

Aziraphale took a moment to fold his hands together so that they didn’t shake. “What treason?” he asked calmly.

Gabriel smiled at him. “Oh, you haven’t done it yet. We were hoping to get rid of you before you could, but finally we decided you at least should be given the chance to convict yourself.”

“You mean the assassins you sent failed,” Aziraphale said, “and you don’t want to get your hands dirty by killing me yourselves without at least this mockery of a trial.” 

There was a little murmuring from the audience at that, but Gabriel glared out at them, and they fell silent. “Things are changing,” Gabriel said. “We’re going in a new direction. Your fondness for humans is a weakness, sunshine, and we can’t have weaknesses in war.”

Aziraphale was not sure how long he sat there, looking at Gabriel, feeling like the room was spinning, the walls grey as ash. _“You’re_ going to kill humans,” he whispered. “Gabriel, you _can’t.”_

“There you go,” Gabriel said, looking pleased. “You’re speaking out against the Council. That’s treason.”

Aziraphale looked around the room in horror. “But why does there need to be a war? We are getting by just fine!”

“We’re supposed to be in charge!” one of the audience called out.

“But _why?_ We’re not going hungry.”

“Because we’re better than they are,” Gabriel said.

Aziraphale stood up abruptly. Most of the participants sat forward in their chairs, but he made no move to try to leave. “You’re bloodthirsty,” he said. “All of you. You’re exactly what the humans have feared all this time. Monsters in the dark. Is that really what you want us to be?”

“We have to hide ourselves,” Gabriel said icily. “We lurk in the shadows, pretending to be weak and human when instead we could rule this world—”

“What world?” Aziraphale exclaimed, feeling tears in his eyes. “A world of violence and pain? Is that what you want? Are you so angry about your lot in life that you would see people die just so you can feel important?”

Another audience member spoke up. “They’re just humans, Aziraphale. They don’t matter.” 

Aziraphale sat down heavily, no longer having the strength to stand. “They matter to me.”

“Oh, we know,” Gabriel said. “We know all about your boyfriend in the dark clothes.”

Aziraphale closed his eyes. When the Council had come to his shop earlier tonight, Aziraphale had been very glad that it was the first night in quite a while that Crowley had not been there. There had been too many vampires to fight, and Crowley would probably have tried, and Aziraphale had been so relieved that Crowley had been spared.

It was no coincidence, he knew that now. “What have you done with him?”

“We got him out of the way,” Michael said, and Aziraphale looked to her with a tiny bit of hope in his heart. It hadn’t been mercy on their part, he knew that. If Crowley lived it was because the Council had nearly lost two attackers to him and they didn’t want to lose more. But the reasons didn’t matter. Crowley lived. He would find Aziraphale missing from the bookshop, and if he had any sense at all, he’d leave. He wouldn’t look for Aziraphale, wouldn’t seek out the Council. He’d stay safe.

But of course, no human could be safe now that the Council had declared war. 

“They have children, you know,” Aziraphale said softly. “The humans. Little bitty things. They’re sticky sometimes. They really aren’t allowed in the bookshop, but their parents bring them in anyway. They laugh at the way I’m dressed. Some of them pull on my cape. The older ones, teenagers, they like the coffin. They take pictures of it. It’s ridiculous. They’re growing so fast at that age that they don’t know where the ends of their arms and legs are anymore, and they knock into the shelves and trip on the rugs. They’re a menace. They’re messy and noisy and I love having them in the shop, all of them. I never thought I would, but I do, because they’re just so _alive.”_ Aziraphale looked around the room. “They’re just children, you can’t kill children.”

“They’re humans,” Michael said. “And I see you’ve chosen their side.”

“If a vampire can be on the humans’ side, then what good is it even having sides?” Aziraphale exclaimed.

“It’s how we know you’re committing treason!” Gabriel said, looking rather proud of himself.

Aziraphale sighed. “Yes, congratulations. I suppose I am. So. Now that I’ve committed it, what happens next?”

“Execution,” Gabriel said, looking even more pleased.

“When?”

“Now.”

“Holy water, burning, or—” Aziraphale was interrupted by the sound of a scuffle outside the conference room. He jumped to his feet. “No, no, no—”

The door burst open and two vampires walked in, dragging Crowley between them. He wore black trousers and a white shirt, and he seemed uninjured. So far. Oddly enough, he also looked terribly pleased to be there. 

Aziraphale started to move toward him, but Council members stepped into his path before he could get close. Someone found a free chair, and Crowley was dropped into it. He took it well, leaning back and crossing his legs, just as if he were lounging on the bookshop couch. The lights in this room were harsher, though, and his face was paler, his hair red as flame.

Aziraphale sat down slowly. “What are you doing here?” he demanded.

Crowley smiled at him. “Missed you, angel.”

“How did you find us?” Gabriel snapped.

Crowley looked Gabriel up and down slowly. Then he turned back to Aziraphale. “Who’s he? Do I have to talk to him?”

Aziraphale gave a sad sort of laugh. “I suppose not. Won’t make any difference, I don’t think.”

One of the vampires who’d brought Crowley in wrinkled his nose. “He smells funny. Not quite like a human.”

Crowley was still looking at Aziraphale, and for a moment it _was_ like they _were_ sitting in the shop, passing a lazy evening together, the kind where words weren’t always needed. Aziraphale met Crowley’s beautiful hazel eyes and shook his head very slightly.

Crowley seemed to get the message. “Smell a bit like a vampire, do I?” he asked, with a sly smile. “I may have stayed the night a few times in the bookshop, if you know what I mean. Perhaps you’ve noticed it’s only got the one, ah, coffin?”

A few vampires winced, and others made noises of disgust. Aziraphale tried very hard not to laugh. He kept looking at Crowley, and Crowley looked at him with such trust in his eyes that Aziraphale also had to try very hard not to cry. Crowley tipped his head a little to the left, back toward the door. Aziraphale raised his eyebrows in a question, and Crowley gave him a tiny nod. Aziraphale very much hoped that he’d just been assured that Crowley had not come alone. 

In that case, Aziraphale had a plan. “He’s not your target,” Aziraphale said to Gabriel. “He’s just a human. Leave him alone.”

“I think perhaps you’ve missed the substance of our conversation,” Gabriel said. “We’re targeting all of them now.” 

Crowley widened his eyes in surprise. Aziraphale prodded at Gabriel. “I suppose you see some sort of justice in it, don’t you? My lover being the first human to die.” 

“You know, that’s actually not a bad idea,” Gabriel said, looking back at Crowley. “You can die together. But of course, we’re going to eat him.”

Crowley gave him an incredulous look. “You’re mad we’re in a relationship, but you think it’s okay to _eat_ someone? What the hell is wrong with you people?”

Aziraphale heard a slight sound of someone else in the hall. A couple of the other vampires picked it up as well. Crowley caught his eye, and Aziraphale could tell his enhanced hearing had noted it also. So now it was time for Crowley to do whatever he’d come to do.

Crowley leaped out of his chair without warning, pulling everyone’s attention back to him. “Help!” he yelled. “Help, someone help me! Vampires are going to kill me!”

Two vampires rushed toward Crowley to try to subdue him, but as they did, the door to the hall burst open. Both actions had the element of surprise: the vampires weren’t expecting Crowley to be able to fight them off far more easily than a human could, nor were they expecting Anathema to rush in with stakes in both hands. In one smooth movement, Aziraphale released the clasp on his cape, threw it over the head of the vampire closest to him, and yanked on it to make the man’s head collide with the table. The man did not move again.

_This_ was why Aziraphale had standards for dressing.

Aziraphale looked up to realize that Anathema had used both her stakes, and two vampires were lying dead on the floor. Crowley had taken out two as well, but now was struggling with another one, but Aziraphale couldn’t help him, because he found himself fighting against a Council member for his own life. 

The rescue had been a grand gesture. Crowley and Anathema had no doubt done it out of love. But it had been hopeless from the start. Three of them against thirteen others. Aziraphale watched helplessly as Crowley was borne to the ground.

The sound of more shouting from the hall drew all of their attention. A great many people could be heard running toward the room, and Aziraphale could only send up a prayer that they would prove to be friends and not foes.

As it turned out, they were both. Beez dashed into the room with their knives, followed by quite a few other vampire hunters. Beez took out the vampire attacking Crowley, giving him a cocky grin. “Told you we’d show up when needed.”

Another vampire took a run at Crowley, but Aziraphale had used the distraction to get the drop on his assailant, and now he finally made it to the front. He grasped Crowley’s attacker by the neck and slammed them into the ground. Beez knelt to make the final blow, and Crowley pulled Aziraphale into his arms.

But beyond them, the battle still raged, and Anathema was in the thick of it. Someone came forward with a stake and she turned just in time to try to defend herself. But the vampire hunter tripped and fell onto the floor. Aziraphale was very surprised to see Anathema grab the poor man and help him up. 

“Oh,” said the man, who looked terribly young, with messy dark hair and glasses. “I think I’m supposed to be hunting you.”

“No, no,” Anathema assured him, while relieving him of his stake. “I’m one of the good guys.”

“Oh,” said the man, looking around. “This is all very confusing.”

Anathema tugged on his arm and brought him to the front of the room. Beez glared at the man. “Newt, you’re completely incompetent!”

“Worked out for the best,” Anathema said, looking at Newt with a funny smile on her face. Beez just growled.

The room drew quiet then, the sides separated. Aziraphale, Crowley, Anathema, and the vampire hunters were at the front of the room, the remaining members of the Council at the back. Several vampires lay dead on the floor in between, as well as one hunter.

Gabriel was still alive, which did not surprise Aziraphale. Michael stood by his side, along with six other Council members.

“You’re outnumbered,” Aziraphale said.

“You’ve mostly got humans,” Gabriel answered, with a cruel smile. “I’ll take our odds.”

“If you want war,” Beez snarled, “we will give you war, vampire.”

Aziraphale was about to protest, when one last person entered the room, and everyone fell silent. The woman took a moment looking at both sides. Aziraphale could see fear and awe on the faces of the Council.

“It’s _Her,”_ someone whispered.

The woman raised an eyebrow. “Such waste and killing. And you wish to spread this over the whole world?” She looked at Gabriel. 

“The world already runs with blood,” Gabriel snapped. “Vampire hunters stalk us. It’s self-defense.”

The woman looked disappointed. “Why have you cut your world into two sides? Why do you think yourselves below them? It only makes you want to climb over them to the top.”

“We deserve to be on top!”

“There is no top, Gabriel! There hasn’t been for a very long time. You must coexist, right here.”

She looked at the vampire hunters. “There will be peace. On your side as well.”

Beez growled a little, but nodded. 

Gabriel was still fuming. She turned back to him. “You are my children, Gabriel,” She said quietly. “I want you to live.”

It was over, then, by Her decree. Gabriel and the others agreed to dismantle the Council, and there was a lot of talk with Her about elections and new directions and Aziraphale didn’t care for any of it. Anathema and the vampire hunters stayed, but Aziraphale drew Crowley out into the hallway and held him close as they left the building. 

“How did you know where I was?” Aziraphale asked.

“Anathema,” Crowley answered. “Following some prophecy or something. I didn’t realize she was a cat. Anyhow, before you yell at me, I was in the prophecy too. Had to come rescue you, and look, it turned out all right.”

Aziraphale sighed. “I suppose it did.”

“So who the hell was that woman?”

Aziraphale laughed. “Depends on who you ask.”

“What?”

“Well— Gabriel and the others seem to believe that it was Her. Our Mother, of sorts. Who made some of us.”

“Did She make you?” Crowley asked. “In Alexandria?”

Aziraphale nodded. “Yes. Well, and no. Yes, She made me. Which is how I know that wasn’t Her.”

“What?”

Aziraphale grinned. “I’ve seen Her. Up close. But most vampires haven’t. Not Gabriel or the others, apparently. Because that, my dear, was Agnes.”

oOo

Crowley’s head was resting on Aziraphale’s shoulder. They were curled up on the bookshop couch. After Aziraphale’s trial, the two of them had gone to sleep in the coffin, and even though they were awake now, Crowley was reluctant to let Aziraphale get too far away. The threat to him was suddenly gone, but Crowley couldn’t quite trust it yet.

“I had that dream again,” Crowley said.

“The snake biting the apple?” Aziraphale asked. 

“I know you know what it means. Which one of us is the snake?”

“Which do you think?” Aziraphale had an amused smile on his face.

“You’re the one with the fangs.”

Aziraphale kissed him lightly on the forehead. “The dream is your half-vampire subconscious urging you to seek out your mother’s people. To understand your heritage.”

“But I’ve done that. So why keep having the dream?”

Aziraphale blushed just a little. “You, um— well, I think you’re still looking for something.”

“I found him,” Crowley said quietly. 

Aziraphale’s expression was soft and a little uncertain. “Are you sure?”

“I love you, angel. I want to stay with you. Will you let me?”

“Crowley,” Aziraphale whispered. He kissed him softly on the mouth this time. “Of course I want you to stay. I love you completely.”

“Then I think there is only one thing left that I’m looking for. If you’re willing to give it.”

Aziraphale laughed. “My dear, you have no idea how hard it’s been for me _not_ to give it.”

Crowley grinned. “Oh! Well, no time like the present.”

Aziraphale still looked a little hesitant. “The thing is, blood from a fresh source is...powerful. And I haven’t drunk from anyone in a very long time.”

Crowley looked at him with concern. “You think you might hurt me?”

The blush was back. “I think I might— er, _become amorous.”_

“Become—” Crowley groaned. “You sound like a librarian. And not the naughty kind.” He tugged Aziraphale closer. “I’m already _amorous,_ angel, so you don’t need to worry about that.”

“Oh,” Aziraphale breathed. 

Crowley kissed him. Aziraphale’s lips were soft and his mouth was warm and very inviting. They hadn’t done this much— with everything going on, there hadn’t really been time to sit together in the shop and kiss lazily like this. It stopped feeling leisurely when Crowley’s tongue moved over Aziraphale’s newly grown fangs.

Crowley pulled back to look at him, breathless. “Will it turn me? If you bite me?”

“No.” Aziraphale’s hands were desperately tight around Crowley’s waist, but his gaze was steady. “No, if you want to stay with me, I mean really _stay_ with me— you don’t need it. You don’t need to change a thing about you, my dear. Your life expectancy is near to mine already.”

Crowley smiled, and kissed Aziraphale with the smile still on his lips. Eventually he lay back on the couch and pulled Aziraphale over him. Aziraphale’s cape settled over them, and Crowley looked up into his handsome face. Then he tilted his head away, baring his neck.

A sort of shiver went through Aziraphale as his mouth pressed gently against Crowley’s throat. Crowley tangled a hand in Aziraphale’s blond curls. And then came the sharp sting of teeth.

Crowley startled a little, but Aziraphale held him steady and hummed soothingly. Crowley relaxed in his arms and let the sensation wash over him. It really didn’t feel like Aziraphale was taking something from him. It felt like they were melding, joining, journeying together to somewhere very beautiful.

Crowley wrapped his arms around the man he loved and let the bookshop become an Eden for a little while.

**The end**

* * *

* * *

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Comments and kudos are so appreciated! And please feel free to check out our other works. 
> 
> Find Pat on [Instagram](https://www.instagram.com/patolozka/) and on her [Linktree](https://linktr.ee/Patolozka)
> 
> Dannye writes Good Omens and original fiction.  
> Find her at [DannyeChase.com](http://dannyechase.com/)  
> and on her [Linktree](https://linktr.ee/DannyeChase)  
> 


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